


Wildest Dreams

by ohleahmarie



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Bucky Barnes Feels, Did I just use the word harkening in a tag, Do I actually know what the hell I'm doing, Domestic Avengers, Endgame sure as HELL didn't happen, Fluff, Fluff and Smut, I Will Go Down With This Ship, I hope you enjoy it anyway, Implied Sexual Content, M/M, Making Out, Not Avengers: Age of Ultron (Movie) Compliant, Not Captain America: Civil War (Movie) Compliant, Not Captain America: The Winter Soldier Compliant, Or people are just already there, Or they walk in on people, POV Bucky Barnes, Past Violence, Peggy who's Peggy, People keep walking in on our boys, Post-Serum Steve Rogers, Protective Bucky Barnes, Some time after Winter Soldier though, Steve Rogers Feels, The Author Regrets Nothing, The Avengers Are Good Bros, The smut isn't full-on smut but it's close, This is harkening back to happier times, civil war didn't happen, infinity war didn't happen, lots and lots of making out, maybe not
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-09
Updated: 2019-05-09
Packaged: 2020-02-28 21:10:25
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,738
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18764290
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ohleahmarie/pseuds/ohleahmarie
Summary: Bucky doesn’t like it when Natasha drops in, but she drops in nevertheless.  In fact, she annoys the fuck out of him because that smile is a little too all-knowing, and Bucky doesn’t like to be known,  not by people he doesn’t know well enough in turn, and the only person Bucky knows well enough to know him back is Steve Rogers.Still, when Natasha drops in again unexpectedly, Bucky isn’t surprised, at least not by the fact that she’s shown up.  He’s just surprised at her timing.OrThe time all of the Avengers find out about Steve and Bucky separately, and one time where they're all there to witness it.





	Wildest Dreams

**Author's Note:**

> As the tags suggest, this happens some time after Winter Soldier maybe, but anything Civil War and on never happen, especially not the atrocious ending of Endgame.
> 
> Just some fluffy almost-smut with Avengers mixed in.
> 
> There's some very brief period-typical homophobia and some brief, non-violent, canon-typical descriptions of battle. Heavy on various tropes in the Stucky genre, and I'm not even sorry about it!

I. Natasha

Bucky doesn’t like it when Natasha drops in, but she drops in nevertheless.  In fact, she annoys the fuck out of him because that smile is a little too all-knowing, and Bucky doesn’t like to be known, not by people he doesn’t know well enough in turn, and the only person Bucky knows well enough to know him back is Steve Rogers.

Still, when Natasha drops in again unexpectedly, Bucky isn’t surprised, at least not by the fact that she’s shown up.  He’s just surprised at her timing.

In love with Steve Rogers is a state of being, and it’s a state of being that Bucky has been in since they were kids, which happens to be over 80 years ago.  Bucky knows this, and yet Bucky hasn’t admitted it to Steve yet.  In fact, he can’t admit it to Steve—not right now.  Steve is probably too busy with his Avengers work to even think about love.  But…Bucky wonders sometimes if Steve does think about it, and if Steve could ever think about it with _Bucky_.  There is an indescribable sort of gravity between them, but so much has happened since their childhood: their parents’ deaths, the draft, the war, The Winter Soldier, Captain America, New York, D.C.  Steve has never given any verbal indication that he feels more than friendship for Bucky anyway, which is just fine, because Bucky’s not sure he deserves someone like Steve Rogers.  Not with all this blood on his hands.  Not with decades of innocent lives that he’s ended without even blinking an eye.

Though Steve would say, _does_ say, that it wasn’t Bucky who did those things.

Still, it was Bucky’s finger that pulled the trigger.

But Bucky’s been seeing a therapist at Steve’s request, and he can deal with the nightmares now.  He doesn’t wake up sweating and scared and brandishing a knife he’d had hidden under his pillow.  Steve doesn’t have to come running in, gray sweatpants sinfully low on his hips, t-shirt wrinkled and rucked up just enough to show off his lower abdomen, and climb into bed with Bucky, rocking him until Bucky’s sobs subside.  Those times are over.  Bucky still wakes up, sits upright, digs around for a knife that isn’t there—but he can handle it on his own.  Not that he doesn’t miss Steve’s ever-present bulk on the bed next to him.  He does.  He just doesn’t think it’s fair.

So when Steve does _finally_ convince Bucky to spar with him—it takes a lot of persuading and a lot of Bucky half-heartedly threatening him and a lot of Steve promising that Bucky couldn’t possibly hurt him—Bucky tries to ignore the way Steve feels under him as he straddles him, pinning him down with both hands.

“Yield,” Bucky says, voice forcibly light, though he wants to whisper it low in Steve’s ear.  God, does Captain America look good between Bucky’s legs.  But Steve just grins back up at him like he knows something Bucky doesn’t, bucks his hips forward, and flips them both over.  It’s almost too easy.

“Make me,” Steve counters.  Bucky’s heart skips a beat when Steve licks his lower lip.  Bucky loves the way Steve’s hair is damp with sweat and pushed out of his face, loves the way Steve smells, all salty and worn out from wrestling Bucky, loves the sweat-slick hold Steve has on his wrists.  His breath catches audibly in his throat, and he knows his chest is heaving just a little too much, knows Steve can feel his pulse quickening beneath his fingers, because his stupid fucking body is betraying him.  He can’t control it, and he certainly can’t muster the strength to try to throw Steve off of him.  He’s not even sure he could if he tried.

Without warning, Steve’s face is ducking closer to Bucky’s.  Steve has let one of Bucky's wrists free as if to say “stop me,” but Bucky’s never wanted to do anything less in his life.  Steve’s normally steel blue eyes are darkened, and they flick to Bucky’s mouth when Bucky pulls his own bottom lip between his teeth and bites down.

When Steve’s lips finally brush his, he sees fireworks, feels the stinging of hot flames licking down his body, and he’s surging up to meet Steve, pressing wetly against his lips, parting them with his and dipping his tongue into Steve’s mouth.  The little whine of pleasure that rips from Steve’s throat is the best sound Bucky has ever heard in his whole goddamn life. 

“This looks cozy,” a voice says above them, and Steve is remarkably fast, even when Bucky had felt him becoming pliant beneath his lips.  Steve is standing above Bucky, offering a hand.  Bucky takes it, lets Steve pull him to his feet.

“Natasha, I thought you were in Eastern Europe,” Steve says, forcing a smile.  She barely quirks her lips up in response.

“Someone’s gotta keep an eye on things around here,” she says.

Bucky’s still dazed.  He can’t really catch his breath, his arms at his sides, and he doesn’t notice that he’s tightening his hands into fists and then releasing them over and over.  But Steve notices, of course Steve notices, and he does something that Bucky could never have expected—he threads one hand in Bucky’s metal one, twines their fingers together and squeezes, and Bucky can feel every bit of pressure and touch and the feather-light way Steve is rubbing his thumb over the back of Bucky’s hand.  He’s never been more thankful for or in awe of Stark tech.  If his metal arm could have goosebumps, it would.

“Good to have you back,” Steve responds, but he’s not even looking at Natasha.  His gaze is fixed on Bucky, who is sure he’s going to melt in Steve’s blue stare, and his body is betraying him again, he’s being tugged in by the gravitational pull of Steve, and he’s leaning in and pressing his kiss-wet lips to Steve’s again.  He doesn’t care who’s looking.

Steve grins into the kiss, his free hand snaking into Bucky’s hair, pressing Bucky closer.  When they break free, Natasha rolls her eyes, but she’s smirking.

“Get a room,” she says.

"Great idea,” Steve responds, arching an eyebrow at Bucky like a dare.  Bucky licks his lips, shaking his head slightly and laughing under his breath, because Steve knows Bucky never backs down from a dare.

 

* * *

 

 

II. Tony

“You’re late for your appointment, sir,” FRIDAY’s chipper voice calls from some nebulous spot above his head.  Bucky jumps, biting his tongue around his toothbrush.  He tastes the coppery hint of blood as it fills his mouth, and he spits it out.

“Tell Stark to fuck off,” Bucky responds.  He rinses his mouth out and eyes Steve in the mirror as he pads by the open bathroom door.  God, he looks good in the morning, hair sleep-mussed, and Bucky notes with interest that he hasn’t bothered to put on a shirt.  He taps his toothbrush on the rim of the sink and sets it aside, wiping his mouth on the back of his hand and following Steve down the hallway, drawn to him like a magnet.

“Yes, sir,” FRIDAY answers, though she sounds hesitant. 

Steve stops at the kitchen counter and stifles a yawn as he presses the twelve-ounce option on the Stark brand Keurig knock-off.  Bucky has a sneaking suspicion that this particular coffee machine does a lot more than make coffee, but he hasn’t tried it out yet.  In fact, it has only been two weeks since he’s started sleeping in Steve’s suite at Avengers Tower, and to be honest, they haven’t spent much of their time outside of the bedroom.  Well, except the time they’d spent in the shower.  And on the couch.  And on the kitchen island, actually, now that Bucky thinks about that one morning they’d busied themselves waiting for the muffins to finish baking and decided to christen the kitchen too.  And they’d maybe forgotten the muffins and FRIDAY had begun fire protocol, but Steve had quickly shut that down and turned off the oven, all with Bucky clinging to his waist and sucking kiss-shaped bruises onto his shoulder blades.  Then they’d also forgotten about the burnt muffins and didn’t see them again until two nights later when Steve had opened the oven at 2:30 AM to shove some frozen mozzarella sticks in there after they’d spent the better part of the night working up an appetite.  They do  have a lot of time to make up for.

“Buck, you’d better—” Steve starts, but Bucky already has his hands on Steve, turns him around and crowds him up against the counter, sinking his teeth into the sensitive skin that pulses in Steve’s neck.  Steve arches himself into Bucky, keening and gripping at Bucky’s waist.

“Good morning,” Bucky mumbles into Steve’s skin.  Bucky revels in the way Steve shudders against him, the hair on his arms raising beneath Bucky’s fingertips.

“Bucky,” Steve warns, managing to push Bucky away just as the steam from his coffee wafts toward them.  “Tony’s gotta take a look at your arm.”

“’S fine, see?” Bucky says, brandishing his metal arm between them, wiggling his fingers in Steve’s face before using them to trace a line down Steve’s throat, over his chest, down the damnably hard muscles in his abdomen.

“I know your back pain’s gotten worse,” Steve admonishes, though Bucky can tell by the blown way Steve’s pupils look that he doesn’t want Bucky to stop touching him, his body betraying his resolve and pressing into Bucky’s fingers.  They find purchase at the waistband of Steve’s pajama pants.  Steve huffs, obviously torn, and Bucky arches an eyebrow in response, letting his hand fall over Steve’s pants and palms at him through them.  The whimper that emits from Steve is so fucking hot that Bucky feels dizzy.

“Mm, I know something that might just make it feel better,” Bucky says.  He presses closer, his own cock hard against Steve’s hip.  He grinds into Steve but feels a twinge in his lower back when he does it, and Steve, perceptive as ever, doesn’t miss the slight grimace that Bucky knows crosses his face, just for a second.

“That’s it, soldier.  We’re going to see Tony.” And Bucky recognizes the way Steve steels himself, resolve hardening as he turns away from Bucky and picks up his coffee cup, taking a sip.  “Get dressed,” Steve orders, pushing Bucky toward the bedroom, following on his heels.  “FRIDAY, tell Tony we’re on our way.”

“Yes, Captain.”

By the time they traipse into the lab, Tony is already pacing around the room, computerized data projected at all angles, and he’s pulling and pushing at the air with his hands.  The data zooms around, and he’s muttering instructions to FRIDAY.  “Sure, add some thrusters, why not?”  He ignores Steve, who raises a hand to say hello, and continues studying the information in front of him. 

Bucky notices a digitized replica of his metal arm spinning slowly at one end of a metal table.  He guesses that’s where this whole thing is going to go down, so he makes his way over and hops onto the table, feet dangling off the side.  Steve follows, nursing his coffee mug, hair still sticking up a little in the back, but he’s pulled on a dark blue t-shirt and jeans.  Bucky still thinks he looks too salacious to be in public, his shirt way too tight, but he’d flat out refused to put on Bucky’s hoodie.  “Bucky, where did you even get this?” he’d asked when he’d unfolded it and seen the cartoonish print of his shield on the front.  Bucky had only grinned wider.

“You’re late, and yeah, you might be as old as Gandalf, but you’re definitely not him, so no excuses,” Tony says, walking over.  Bucky and Steve blink back at him.  Tony sighs, rolling his eyes.  “Really?  No one put The Lord of the Rings movies on your list?  Who are you getting your recs from?  Amateurs.  Put them on there,” he demands, nudging Steve.  “In fact, let me see that thing.  I don’t really trust anyone that would put ‘disco’ on your radar.”

“It’s back in my room.”

“I’ll text you an updated list.  FRIDAY, start a list for Cap.”

“Shall I add The Hobbit movies too, sir?”

“Ugh, I guess.”

“What’s the plan for this thing?” Bucky asks, indicating his metal arm by raising it a little.

“Glad you asked, Dot Matrix,” says Tony, swiping at the spinning replica of Bucky’s arm, and Bucky doesn’t get the reference, but he knows enough to know he should roll his eyes in response.  At Tony’s gesture, a new digital arm appears, and it looks exactly the same to Bucky.  Bucky frowns, which Tony must notice, because he looks up at the ceiling, huffing out a groan.  “It’s an upgrade.  I made it practically overnight!”

“You started it two weeks ago,” FRIDAY counters.

Tony’s jaw falls open.  “Yeah, the schematics, but I built this thing—nevermind.  FRIDAY, no more comments from the peanut gallery.”

“Yes, sir.”

“The point is, this model is a lot lighter.  I did away with some of the ‘unnecessary add-ons,’” he uses finger-quotes, “by Cap’s request.”

“He didn’t need a built-in full-body Iron Man suit, Tony,” Steve admonishes.

“You never know!  And anyway, I’ve been doing more research with nanotech.  Mark 51, it’s really flexible—”

“He didn’t need an arm cannon either—”

“Wait, I do very much need an arm cannon,” Bucky interjects.

Tony extends an arm in Bucky’s direction, still looking at Steve.  “This man is speaking my language.”

“And what language is that?”

“Just because some of us like to be prepared—”

“We’ve seen enough of war,” Steve says, and for emphasis, he slams one fist on the metal table as he says it, and Bucky suddenly feels the swooping sensation low in his belly that he’d gotten to know well over the past few weeks.  Bucky bites his own lip, resisting the urge to pull Steve in and wrap his legs around him.  Captain America with his best furrowed-brow stare, just a little angry, indignant on Bucky’s behalf.  Damn, it’s a good look.

“I get it, Cap.  I do.  But sometimes the fight comes to you,” Tony says, gesturing out the window at all of New York.  Bucky knows he’s talking about the Chitauri attack.  He hadn’t been there for that.  He stops his train of thought before he tries to pinpoint exactly where he _had_ been.  His therapist had taught him enough stopping techniques that Bucky didn’t even flinch.

“And if it does, we’ll be ready, Tony.  But for now, no arm cannon,” Steve says.  He’s directing his order at both Tony and him.  Bucky rolls his eyes again, just to get that look out of Steve, but nods in agreement.

“Lucky for us, I left it out of this particular iteration,” Tony says, walking to the counter nearby and opening a metal suitcase.  He pulls out the new arm, which still looks identical to the one attached to him now.  “As I was saying, it’s much lighter.  Should help with those back problems, but you should do some physical therapy too.  I’ve already got someone coming in.  You start Monday.  Now take off your shirt and lay back.”  Bucky complies, and Steve sets his mug down on a nearby counter, moving to hover over Bucky.  “I know we did this first one with all the straps and everything, but I highly suggest conscious sedation.”

Bucky swallows, eyes widening a little.  He doesn’t like getting injected with things, but he doesn’t like being tied down either.  “Will it hurt?”

“Doing without the drugs?  Probably.  These are your nerves we’re talking about.”

“Bucky, we need to get that arm off.  It’s hurting you,” Steve says, but there’s a look of alarm on his face.  Bucky sighs through his teeth.  Needles or restraints?

“The meds won’t put you all the way to sleep.  We can keep you talking.  I just don’t want to hit a nerve and have you blowing up my lab or me in it.”

“Is that possible?” Steve asks. 

Tony grimaces, shrugging.  “It’s unlikely, but I’d also like to not get punched in the face.  I’m a little attached to it.”  A wry smile and shrug.

“Give me the meds,” Bucky interrupts.  Steve’s eyes find his, and Bucky knows what he’s going to say.  “Don’t ask if I’m sure, Steve.  Just do it, Stark, before I change my mind.”  The side of Tony’s mouth quirks up in a grim smile, but he moves away and instructs Friday to call in the nurse anesthetist. 

She arrives minutes later, and Tony introduces her as Hannah.  She’s in black slacks and a pink blouse with a white lab coat over it, red hair tied back in a ponytail, and she’s carrying a plastic bin with supplies in it.  Bucky studies the ceiling as she places an IV, which he notes with some satisfaction doesn’t even sting when it pierces his skin.  She sticks some electrodes to his chest and attaches wires to them, then places a sticker with a red light and a wire coming out of it on his pointer finger, connecting it all to a monitor that springs to life.  She explains that the green line is his heartbeat and points out the number beside it: 87.  There’s a blue line that she says is his breathing, and there are numbers beside that too.  She connects a blood pressure cuff to the monitor and wraps it around his bicep, pressing a button on the screen that makes it constrict.  She then produces five syringes and explains that three of them are normal saline, one is a sedative, and one is a narcotic.

“You ready?” she asks, tucking a stray strand of red hair behind her ear.  Bucky nods, eyeing her, and thinks she might be pretty if she wasn’t wearing that white coat that he hates so much, but it certainly doesn’t help that her eyes keep flicking up at Steve and back down when he turns to look at her.  In fact, Bucky thinks, she’s really not that pretty.  She has those blue eyes he likes but other than that, she’s kind of plain.  She glances at Steve again before twisting the first syringe of normal saline into the tip of the IV catheter, and Bucky narrows his eyes when he watches her lick her lower lip.

“Hey, I’m the patient here,” he growls, getting her attention.  Steve bites back a smile, shaking his head at Bucky.  The anesthetist blushes, focusing back on the IV and pushing the plunger.  Bucky feels a cool flush up his arm, can taste salt in his mouth as she fits another syringe onto the end.

“This is the narcotic,” she explains, depressing the plunger.  She pushes another syringe of saline after the narcotic, then administers the sedative, and then the last syringe of saline.  “It should all kick in in a few minutes,” she says.  “I’ll just be monitoring your vitals.”  Tony pulls up two rolling stools and offers her one.

The room is quiet except for Tony’s absent-minded mumblings.  Bucky notices Steve worrying his lip between his teeth, brow still furrowed in that ridiculous way that makes a crease appear above his nose, and he looks like he’s trying not to pace.  The woman in the lab coat is watching the monitor and occasionally looking down at the dainty rose gold watch on her wrist.

Bucky suddenly feels tingly in a nice way, and he can’t stop the laugh that escapes his mouth.  It sounds like a giggle to him.  Steve’s head appears in Bucky’s line of sight, dangling over him like the moon, all bright and beautiful and blue.

“Heya, Stevie,” Bucky says, licking his lips.  Tony scoffs to his left, but he can’t see him, so it doesn’t really matter.  “Hey, whatcha doin’?”

Steve feels very far away, like an echo.  “How you feelin’, Buck?”

“Light,” he says because he feels like he’s floating.

“I guess we’re a go,” Tony’s voice says.  Bucky feels some slight pressure in his shoulder, and it’s kind of annoying.  Not bad, though.  Just…he wants to flinch away from it.  He tries.  “Whoa there, Astroboy, hold still.”  There’s a prickling in his shoulder now, a little hot, and Steve isn’t looking at him, he’s looking over him.  Why isn’t Steve looking at him?

“Stevie,” Bucky repeats, trying to catch Steve’s hand.  Steve lets him, twining his fingers in Bucky’s.

“I love the pet name, Cap,” Tony says.  “Is that some kind of Howling Commandos thing they forgot to print at the Smithsonian?”

“ _No_ ,” Bucky whines, “that’s _my_ name for him.  He’s _my_ Stevie, y’see.”

“Right, sure, he’s your Stevie.”  Another twinge in his shoulder, and Bucky hums in disapproval, recoiling.  “Hey, Capsicle, he’s moving way too much.  You gotta hold him down.”

“Yeah, Steve, hold me down,” Bucky grins, doing his best to waggle his eyebrows, but he’s not really sure they move much.  Steve leans over, pressing both hands on Bucky’s chest.

“Hold still, Buck.  You gotta hold still for Tony.”

“Like it when you tell me what to do,” Bucky says, tugging his lip between his teeth, and it feels fat and foreign, but he’s trying to put on a seductive face.  He’s lying down and Steve is bent over him with both hands on him.  He should be leaning in, he should be…Bucky tries to surge upward, wants to catch Steve’s mouth with his, but he can’t move.  He whimpers.  “C’mere, Stevie, come down here.  Give me a kiss, baby.  Want my best guy to make me feel good—”

“ _Bucky_ ,” Steve hisses.  Those beautiful blue eyes are wide, darting from where Tony is sitting to—someone else in the room?  Who else is there?  Bucky can’t remember.  It’s not important.

“Just wanna feel you,” Bucky pleads.  He’s squirming under Steve’s hands.

“Uh, Cap, your _boyfriend_ ,” and it sounds so pointed, “is really salting my game over here.  You have to keep him still.”  Steve sighs, and Bucky thinks he might die when Steve climbs onto the table, straddling him and pressing down harder on his chest on the left, his other hand pressed into the crook of Bucky’s right elbow.  Bucky imagines that he’s pushing so hard it might actually bruise, and the thought has him swallowing against his dry throat.

“I need you to be good, Bucky.  You have to listen to Tony.”

“What do I get in return?” Bucky smiles up at Steve, winking.

“What will it take?” he asks.  Bucky makes a grabby motion with his hands, though he’s pretty sure the left one isn’t moving at all.  In fact, it stings a little, and Tony makes an impatient noise.  “Buck, hold still, _please_ ,” and if the vision of Captain fucking America straddling him and begging wasn’t the most obscene thing Bucky could ever imagine, then he doesn’t know what is.  He’s suddenly very hard, pressed against Steve’s ass, which is the best ass in the universe, he’d be willing to bet his entire life on it.  Steve’s eyes grow dark and hungry, and Bucky loves it.  He loves that he can pull Steve apart like that.  Steve dips his head close to Bucky’s ear.  “Bucky, you have to hold still,” he whispers.  The heat of Steve’s breath in his ear is almost unbearable.

“Kiss me, Stevie, please, kiss me, I can’t take it—” and Steve, for once in his life, follows orders, pressing his soft lips against Bucky’s mouth.  He tastes like home, like fireworks and sweat and lead, and the kiss deepens when Bucky moans into his mouth.  Their tongues slide together and Bucky wants to press into Steve harder but—Steve had asked him to stay still.  That’s all Steve wants right now, and Bucky loves to give Steve what he wants.  The kiss ends too soon.  “God, _Stevie_ ,” Bucky breathes, and he hears some faint beeping behind his head.  “The things you do to me, babydoll, I can’t think, I can’t…”

Steve looks slightly alarmed at the beeping, though, and his eyes aren’t on Bucky anymore.  “It’s just his heartbeat—it’s…it’s a little—well, it’s a little fast but—I think—I mean, it’s okay, he’s fine.”  It’s a female voice Bucky can’t place.  Steve purses his lips together, looking down at Bucky again and sighing.

“Get back down here, Rogers,” Bucky orders.  Steve shakes his head.  “ _Please_ , please, just need you with me, just want you right here between my lips,” and then that starts a whole new line of thinking, “Mmm, and then I’ll trail kisses down your neck, suck a little bruise just above your collarbone, yeah, I know you like that—”

“Jesus H. Christ, Cap, this is really messing with my worldview here!  What happened to you being squeaky clean?” Tony says.  Hmm, Bucky had forgotten he was there.  Oh well.

“Oh, he’s never clean when I’m through with him,” Bucky says, and he’s babbling again.  “Get you all filthy and wet and com—”

“ _BUCKY_!” Steve interrupts, and he’s blushing now, red skin at his cheeks and down his throat, disappearing beneath the collar of his too-tight t-shirt, and _God_ , that’s good.

“Yeah, I’m gonna start working a little faster now because I _can’t_ hear this,” Tony says.  There’s a thud and Bucky feels so light he thinks he might float all the way to the ceiling, but Steve’s there, holding him down.  “All right, that one’s off.  Just need to attach this new one.”  Some light sounds follow, tinkering and delicate.

“You’re doing so good, Buck,” Steve says above him.

“Wanna do _you_ so good, Stevie,” Bucky responds, and this time he can’t help but roll his hips forward, just a little.  Steve sucks in air between his teeth, and Bucky’s nearly undone with the friction and the way Steve’s body responds to it, grinding down on Bucky’s length like he can’t help himself.  Bucky hears the lewd moan being ripped from his throat, but he doesn’t try to bite it down.  He doesn’t care.  “That’s right, baby, _fuck_ , yeah, are you hard for me too, Stevie?”

“Seriously, I’m going to vomit,” Tony says over the beeping that’s becoming louder, more insistent.

“Just a few more minutes, Bucky,” Steve scolds, suddenly very still on top of Bucky and Bucky wishes he could move at all, just let himself find purchase, tendrils of heat blossoming in his groin and want, _need_ , it’s fogging his brain, but Steve said be still.  He could be still.

A few more minutes feels like hours to Bucky, Steve on top of him and touching him and Bucky unable to move.  He wants to get his hands on Steve’s waist, adjust him so that he’s just right, or else flip him over and crawl on top and tell _him_ to be still while Bucky has his way with him.  Then Steve would know, this is _torture_ , but God, it’s sweet.

Finally, there’s a buzzing sound and a few clinks, and Tony claps his hands together.  “All done,” he declares, standing from his stool and wiping his hands on his pants.  “You’re welcome to move all you want now, Romeo.  Just let me and Hannah get out of here first.  Actually, no, you’re not allowed to…uh, you know,” he gestures wildly at them, “this…in my lab.  I’ll never be able to work in here again if Captain America is deflowered on this table.”

“That was taken care of weeks ago,” Bucky points out, and Tony groans, hiding his face in his hands and darting out of the room. 

 

* * *

 

 

III. Bruce (and Shuri!)

It takes some time for Fury to come around to the idea of letting Bucky go on missions with the team, but when Steve had come back from what was supposed to be a simple reconnaissance mission with a bullet hole in his side, Bucky had flat-out refused to be left behind again.  Though they have long since destroyed the Red Book, none of them wants to take the chance that some high-level Hydra thug has the trigger words memorized or written down somewhere else, so Fury provides a quinjet that takes them to a place called Wakanda.

Bucky admires the little country, doesn’t think he’s ever seen a place so green, so unmarred by skyscrapers and never-ending gray.  When he’s taken to the lab, Steve at his side, he’s surprised to find someone there that he knows.

“Dr. Banner,” Steve says, reaching out a hand to shake Bruce’s.  Bruce takes it, adjusts his glasses, and extends a hand to Bucky in turn.

“Good to see you both,” Bruce says.

“What are you doing here?” asks Steve.

“Just observing,” he answers, though Bucky has a sneaking suspicion that Bruce is downplaying his role in the whole thing, at least a little bit. 

“Princess,” Steve says, bowing his head toward the young woman who appears at Bruce’s side.  “I can’t thank you enough for what you’re doing.”  She’s dressed in all white, her long hair piled on her head in intricate braids.  She can’t be more than fifteen years old, but Bucky learned long ago that age and size are no indication of skill, or heart.  Steve had taught him that, way back in an alleyway in Brooklyn.

“I told you Captain, call me Shuri,” she responds.

“Only if you’ll call me Steve.”

“Deal,” she smirks.  Her eyes move to Bucky, and she’s studying him, which makes Bucky a little uneasy.  Steve must notice, because he puts a firm hand on Bucky’s shoulder, grounding him.

“This is Bucky.”

“Sergeant Barnes,” she nods at something behind them, leading Bucky over to a sleek white chair, plush but sterile-looking.  Bruce and Steve follow, the little crease between Steve’s eyebrows betraying his constant assurances on the jet ride over that Bucky had nothing to worry about. 

For the second time in a few weeks, Bucky’s being hooked up to various monitors.  He especially hates the equipment they place over his head, like a helmet with wires protruding from it.  He grips the armrests, feels the left one starting to creak under his hand.

“Bucky.” Steve’s right next to him, whispering in the space between them, and that space is too damn wide, if Bucky’s being honest.  He whimpers in response, and Steve lays a hand over Bucky’s metal one, and Bucky silently thanks Stark and his tech for the ability to feel the warmth of Steve’s fingers there.  “It’s gonna be okay, pal.  I won’t let anything happen to you.”

“I’m not worried about me,” Bucky admits.

“Don’t worry about us,” Bruce says.  “If anything happens, I’m pretty sure The Other Guy can neutralize the threat, at least from you.”  He hangs his head a little, and Bucky realizes that maybe Bruce understands better than anyone not being in control of the monster within.

“It won’t come to that,” Steve interjects.  Bucky admires the way Steve is always so sure, though it’s admittedly naïve.  Bucky hopes he’s right anyway.

“Thank you, Steve!” Shuri calls from behind a clear screen.  “You’re all worried for nothing.  I’ve got this.  You won’t feel a thing.”

Shuri’s right, in a way.  Bucky doesn’t feel anything physically, though once the procedure starts, it’s like he’s dreaming.

He sees Steve, knows it’s a memory from the first time they met.  Steve’s hair is shorter, blonder, and he’s this scrawny little thing, his khaki pants and white t-shirt hanging off of him as he takes a swing at Billy Young, who stands at least a foot taller.  Billy sidesteps him easily, lands a punch in Steve’s ribs before Bucky tackles him.

The memory shifts and Bucky’s sweating, the Brooklyn sun baking his skin underneath his black suit as he follows Steve up the stairs to his apartment.  _I’m with you ‘til the end of the line, pal_.

The scene shifts again, Bucky’s reassuring Steve that he didn’t have to pay Betty Vaughan to come on their double date.  Really, she’s not very pretty anyway, Bucky thinks, and he’ll never tell Steve but he’d asked her on purpose because he just can’t stand the idea of Steve and a pretty girl, or Steve and anyone but Bucky, really, but he’ll never say that.  That kind of thing isn’t…it isn’t right, and he tries so hard not to feel that way, tries not to stare at the way Steve’s lower back curves just above his ass or the way his hair falls in his face, obscuring those long lashes, the blue eyes that Bucky’s sure can see right through him.

Bucky feels again the awful sting, the heart-sinking feeling of hugging Steve goodbye, of not knowing if or when he will see him again.  _Don’t do anything stupid until I get back_.

When Steve appears above him, ripping the straps off his arms and legs, Bucky’s sure he’s dead, because Heaven is Steve’s face, Steve’s body suddenly devoid of the illnesses Bucky had spent their whole childhood praying wouldn’t kill him, and when Steve easily lifts him off the table and half-carries him out of that damn freezing room, Bucky’s heart hammers in his chest so loud that he’s sure Steve can hear it.  _I thought you were smaller_.

He sees the Howling Commandos, remembers Dum Dum’s stupid laugh, follows Steve into any Hydra base because he knows now that he’s not losing Steve again.  He’s never leaving Steve’s side.

Or so he thinks, until he finds himself surrounded in ice, snow filling his mouth, the cold suffocating him, and he can’t feel his left arm.

He doesn’t remember anything else until he sees Steve’s face on the bridge.  _Who the hell is Bucky_?

He swallows hard against the memory of hurting Steve, of the bones in Steve’s cheek giving way beneath his metal fist.  _You’re my friend_.

“Bucky, are you okay?” It’s Steve’s voice again, muffled like he’s underwater, and Bucky remembers being underwater, remembers holding his breath and searching frantically for the man who’d just broken right through his programming like it's the most delicate glass (what's the mission, _soldat_? They told him over and over, _he’s the mission, he's the—_ ), remembers his left hand seizing the strap of Steve’s vest, hauling him onto the riverbank and not breathing again until Steve finally does, because somewhere in his mind, deeper even, in his _soul_ , maybe, there's Steve.  The man from the bridge, the man from the helicarrier.  _But I_ _knew him_.

“S…Steve?” Bucky manages around the cotton in his throat.

“Hey, pal, I’m here,” Steve mutters.  Bucky can feel Steve’s hands on him, bringing him back to life.

“The procedure was successful,” Shuri chirps.  Bucky opens his eyes, realizing the equipment has been removed, the chair laid all the way back so that he’s lying down.  Steve is crouched beside him.

“Show me,” Bucky demands because he can’t believe it, not on her word alone.  Not even on Steve’s.

“Longing—”

“ _Wait_!” Bucky yells, interrupting Shuri.  He knows he’s wild-looking, wide-eyed and terrified, breathing erratically, hair tangled in his face, but he can’t risk it, _won’t_ risk it, no matter how certain she is.  “You have to tie me down.”

“No,” Steve argues.  “No way, Bucky.  We’re not—”

“It’s not up to you, Rogers,” Bucky snaps, though he’s immediately ashamed because that _look_ Steve has on his face, like Bucky’s just hit him.  God, that hurts.  Bucky grabs Steve’s hand.  “Stevie, I’m so sorry, I just—I need to do this, and I need you to be safe.  I can’t hurt you again.”

“Buck, you _won’t_ —”

“I need to be sure,” he says.  “I know you don’t like backing down from a fight, but I have to do this, and I can’t put anyone else in danger to do it.  Please, Steve.”  Steve sighs heavily, but Bucky knows he’s won.

It only takes a few minutes for them to strap him in, for Shuri to repeat the words slowly.  Bucky’s shaking, almost convulsing, and he can feel the sweat between his right wrist and the leather restraint sliding against his skin.  Finally, the last word comes.

Nothing happens.

When Bruce releases the restraints, Bucky feels lighter than he thinks he’s ever felt, and he finally thinks maybe he’s worthy of the look Steve is giving him.  Bright.  Blue.  Good.  Nothing can stop him from standing and closing the distance between them, cupping Steve’s face with his hands, and planting a kiss on Steve’s lips.

Steve grins against him, tension leaving his shoulders as he wraps both arms around Bucky and responds enthusiastically, opening his mouth so Bucky can shove his tongue inside.  Steve tastes like sunshine, and he’s making little pleased noises, pressing into Bucky’s front.

Bruce clears his throat.

“Shit,” Bucky says, breaking the kiss and stepping back.  He had completely forgotten their audience.  Bruce has taken off his glasses and is cleaning them with a handkerchief.

Shuri squeals.  “I _knew_ it!  T’challa owes me money.  I can’t wait to see his face!”

Steve’s jaw drops.  “You…and King T’Challa…made a _bet_?  About… _us_? How did you even...”  Shuri shrugs, grinning and waving as she leaves the lab.

Bruce puts his glasses back on and looks around the room, eyes widening like he’s just realized he’s the only person left in there besides Bucky and Steve.

“Oh, um, well, I guess I’ll—I’ll just—see you in the morning—on—on the jet,” he stammers, and Bucky’s never seen Bruce Banner move so fast.

“Now that we’re alone,” Bucky starts, moving toward Steve again.

Steve quirks an eyebrow.  “Shuri did mention sleeping quarters.”

“Won’t be doing much sleeping,” Bucky growls, dropping a languid kiss on Steve’s neck, teeth just barely grazing the skin.  Goosebumps emerge under Bucky’s mouth, and _fuck_ , it’s a great feeling, knowing he can do that to Steve.  Steve shudders, letting out a low groan.

“What are you waiting for?” Steve mutters, pressing his erection against Bucky’s thigh, and Bucky doesn’t have to be told twice.  He scoops Steve up, throws him over his shoulder, one hand digging into his ass through his jeans.  “ _Bucky_!” Steve laughs, half-heartedly struggling to get out of Bucky’s arms as Bucky hauls him out of the lab and down the long hallway of the palace.  It’s nice that Steve’s at least pretending like he can’t overpower Bucky, because Bucky does like to feel in charge, at least sometimes.  Definitely like this.

When they finally make it to the first bedroom, Steve’s already climbed down from Bucky’s shoulder and has wrapped his legs around Bucky’s torso.  He’s sucking mouth-shaped bruises into the hollow above Bucky’s collarbone, and Bucky sees stars, throws them both up against the unopened door, desperate to get Steve alone, to rip off this stupid striped button-down and get his fingers on Steve’s burning skin.  He fumbles for the door handle, the door bursting open against their combined weight, and Steve slams it shut behind them as Bucky carries him inside.

Bucky is one second from throwing Steve bodily on the bed, his mind already reeling with the things he wants to do to him, when he hears a choked gasp that doesn’t come from Steve.

Bucky’s pretty sure he’s going to murder someone.

Steve disentangles himself, both feet on the floor, and turns to see Bruce sitting in the bed, leaning against the headboard, the paperback that had been in his hands now lying haphazardly on his lap.

“Oh God,” Bruce groans, hiding his face in his hands.  “I can—I can go—” he starts, voice muffled.

"No, no, we’ll…we’ll just…maybe not right next door but…” Steve replies.  The way he’s all breathy and his brain sex-fogged, it’s really doing it for Bucky.  Not that everything Steve does doesn’t do it for Bucky, but Steve has turned back to Bucky and is pressing urgent hands against Bucky’s chest, turning him around and forcing him back out into the hallway, and Steve seems like he can’t help himself when he runs one palm down low, pressing over the bulge in Bucky’s pants.  Bucky moans, probably loud enough for Bruce to hear even though they’ve shut the door behind them again.  He can’t get enough though, and he pushes Steve up against the opposite wall, pinning both of Steve’s wrists over his head.  Steve bites his lip, making that face that he makes when he knows he’s got Bucky right where he wants him.

“Fuck, Steve,” Bucky breathes quiet in Steve’s ear.  “I don’t think I’m gonna make it to the bed,” and to drive his point home, he grinds into Steve, the friction against his cock delicious and hot and unbearable.  Steve’s eyes close, his mouth opens, and Bucky can’t, he can’t wait any longer, not with Steve unraveling like this in Bucky’s hands, not with those lips parted and Bucky’s brain malfunctioning.

Steve’s not an exhibitionist, though, and he frees himself from Bucky’s hold, dragging Bucky a couple of doors down and all but throwing him into the room.

They don’t make it to the bed, as Bucky predicted, but Bucky doesn’t mind the rug burn on his knees—he heals quickly.  In fact, he actually admires the way Steve’s lower back looks, reddened and angry, knowing that Steve rocking against the ground to meet Bucky’s hard thrusts is what did it.  Damn, it’s a good look.

 

* * *

 

IV. Clint

Bucky knows where he’ll find Steve, knew it the moment Tony deemed Bucky “It” and had him turn around and count to one hundred.  Fury had suggested “team-building exercises,” but Bucky and Steve had both balked at games called “Mine Field” and “Frostbite,” so Natasha had suggested hide-and-seek.  Steve had pointed out that it wasn’t really a “team-building exercise” as such, but they can’t be fussed about it because Fury isn’t there to monitor them and they all like to rebel against him in their own ways.  Tony had said the oldest had to be “It” first, and Thor wasn’t there, so Steve had nudged Bucky forward.

But Steve is as predictable as ever, and Bucky doesn’t really care to look for anyone else.  He scans the stacks as he enters Stark Library, the bookcases dark and wooden and looming halfway to the ceiling.  He pauses at each shelf, peering around them slowly, and he knows he’s absolutely silent.  Decades of Hydra training to thank there, he thinks with a scowl, but still, he’s a little smug about his ability to sneak up on people.  It’s especially entertaining to sneak up on Bruce, but after a couple of stern looks from Steve (and enthusiastic encouragement from Tony, which must mean it's a bad idea), he’d had to stop. 

So he should be pretty good at hide-and-seek, but it turns out, he doesn’t really have to be.  Steve is sitting between two stacks, back pressed against a shelf, one leg pulled up to his chest and the other splayed in front of him.  He’s got a book propped between his fingers, probably historical fiction, if Bucky has to hazard a guess.  He doesn’t glance up as Bucky makes his way down the aisle, but his lip quirks up at the side, and Bucky sighs.

“How did you know I was coming?” Bucky asks.

“I can feel you,” Steve responds without ever looking up.  Bucky can’t help it, he smiles, because it’s such a damn _Steve_ thing to say, and it makes his heart quicken.  Steve closes the book and reaches his hand out.  Taking it, Bucky pulls him to his feet, and he really enjoys the shocked gasp Steve lets out when Bucky pushes him against the bookshelf and reaches down to dig his fingers in Steve’s ass.

“You know I can’t resist when you say shit like that, Stevie,” Bucky murmurs low and dirty against Steve’s parted lips.  Steve wastes no time, bridges the small distance between their mouths and kisses Bucky hard, his hands weaving into Bucky’s hair.  Bucky licks into Steve’s mouth, deepening their kiss and groaning against his tongue.

After a few moments in which Bucky feels like a match has been lit against his skin, Steve breaks the kiss.  Bucky whines with disapproval, pushing forward and trying to catch Steve’s mouth again.  “Not in front of the books,” Steve protests, laughing, but Bucky can’t stand the distance, he’s already hard, and he wants, _needs_ the contact, and he sinks his teeth into Steve’s earlobe.  The moan that rips from Steve’s throat is obscene, and Bucky is dizzy with it.

“They won’t mind,” Bucky growls into Steve’s ear.  He feels Steve’s fingers constrict in the back of his t-shirt, and he’s not close enough, can never be close enough to the fire he’s kindling under Steve’s skin.  He pushes forward more, the bookcase groaning under their collective weight and strength.

“Bucky,” Steve cautions as the bookcase starts to sway, but Bucky can’t stop himself.  He’s swelling forward, trailing sloppy kisses against the pulse in Steve’s neck, and the bookcase really doesn’t stand a chance.  It collapses behind them with a loud crash as they fall on top of it, but Bucky doesn’t care, doesn’t register as the shelf behind it starts to fall too.  He has to get his hands on Steve’s skin.  He’s shoving his shirt up, pressing his fingertips against Steve’s straining muscles, trailing up his abdomen with his mouth until he can take a nipple between his teeth.  The resulting whimper that’s elicited from Steve’s open mouth almost guarantees that Bucky won’t stop until they’re both completely undone.

 _Almost_ guarantees.

“Aw, hiding spot, no!” 

Steve freezes beneath Bucky, who’s panting with desire, but they look up to where Clint has landed on both feet nearby.  Books litter the ground around them, two shelves have completely collapsed, and a third is leaning against the shelf that lines the back wall of the library. 

“Oh, hey guys,” Clint waves.  A sheepish grin has spread across his face.

“Clint,” Steve acknowledges with a nod, pulling his shirt down and nudging Bucky, who rolls off him with a groan of protest as they make their way to their feet.  “Where were you hiding?”

“On top of that.”  Clint indicates one of the fallen bookshelves.

“Uh, how long you been there, bud?” Steve asks, his cheeks flushing.  Bucky probably shouldn’t be eyeing Steve the way he is, wondering how far down that blush goes, but his mind is already foggy with longing.

“I got here around the time you picked up _The Book Thief_ ,” Clint grins.

So Clint can sneak up on Steve, but Bucky can’t, Bucky notes with annoyance.  He wonders briefly if Steve would be mad if he stabbed Clint right about now.

Steve clears his throat.  “Great,” he mutters. “It’s only a matter of time before—”

“Hey, I can be discreet.  Just ask Nat,” Clint responds.

Bucky honestly can’t see what the big deal is.  In fact, with the way Bucky’s still straining against his pants, he’d take Steve right here, in front of the books and God and, Hell, even Clint fucking Barton.  He swallows hard against his aching throat.

“Tony’s gonna love this,” Steve remarks, gesturing at the mess they’ve made.  Bucky snorts. 

Clint raises his eyebrows and shrugs, turning to walk away.  “Don’t let me interrupt,” he calls over his shoulder.  “I can probably buy you some time.”

Once Clint’s disappeared, Bucky takes a step toward Steve and pulls him in, hands roaming everywhere he can reach.  His body is screaming at him for Steve, for release, and he knows from the sound Steve makes against his skin that there’s no interrupting them this time, other Avengers be damned.

 

* * *

 

 

V. Thor

For the record, Bucky agrees with Steve about the injustice of the “shield around the Earth” mentality Tony has, because Bucky knows what imprisonment is like, knows that the price of freedom is high but it’s a price he (and Steve and Sam, and, surprisingly, Wanda, Clint, and Scott) is willing to pay. 

But, just as Tony had predicted, the Chitauri are not the last of the aliens to descend on Earth, though this new wave of aliens isn’t quite as big or quite as deadly, or even quite as organized.  When the Avengers, now including a whole throng of superheroes that aren’t the “Original Six,” as Tony calls them, are dispatched by Fury to handle the alien situation, Bucky enthusiastically joins.

He finds himself on a rooftop opposite Clint, the two of them sniping in unison, Clint’s arrows occasionally causing explosions when he’s sure none of their team are nearby.  Bucky tries his hardest not to focus on Steve, even takes out a target that had gotten menacingly close to Tony’s six, but it’s nearly impossible to ignore the way his heart seizes in panic when four or five of the Orc-looking aliens pile on top of Steve.  Before he can train his gun on them, they’re all rising off of Steve in an angry red glow, hurtling through space as Wanda waves her hands in a delicate dance.  Steve throws his shield at a mass of them nearby, decapitating a few, and the shield returns like a boomerang to Steve’s arm.  A Stark-designed upgrade to the Captain America outfit, Bucky notes with approval.  He also tries not to notice the outline of Steve’s ass in the uniform, but there’s nothing for it.  Steve, his fluid movements, the way he barks commands into their comms, the sure manner in which he dodges strikes and spins through the air—it’s all a little much for Bucky, who, again, is _really_ trying to concentrate here.

Suddenly, dark clouds roll overhead, and the air feels charged like a livewire, like a snake hissing and coiled to strike.  Thor slams Mjolnir into the ground beneath them, lightning crackling, igniting dozens of aliens in its wake.  The hairs on Bucky’s arms stand on end.

Bucky isn’t sure how long it takes for the fight to start winding down.  The adrenaline coursing through his veins makes him feel wired, like he’s had too much coffee.  When Steve’s voice calls an all clear over the comm, he finally lowers his rifle, descends the cramped staircase, and emerges outside.  He picks his way across the rubble toward Steve, who’s breathing heavily but seems unscathed, save for an angry red gash across his cheek.  Bucky knows it’ll be the ghost of a scar by the time they make it back to Avengers Tower, but it still infuriates him to know someone got close enough to pierce Steve’s skin.  He vows to himself right then that no one will ever get the chance again.

And for all of Steve’s steely resolve, for all the certainty he emanates in the face of danger, the way he looks now, sagging with relief, moving toward Bucky as soon as his eyes find him amidst the wreckage, it’s heartbreaking in its beauty.  Steve’s all husky when he catches Bucky by the nape of the neck and puts his mouth up close to Bucky’s ear and says, “Thank God, Buck.  I was so worried I couldn’t see straight.  I can’t—we can’t—I need you beside me next time, I can’t think without—”

“Didn’t even get dicey, babe,” Bucky replies, though he can’t stop grinning at the way Steve is manhandling him, pressing Bucky against him like he can’t get close enough.  Bucky reaches up to pull off Steve’s cowl, expose more of his gorgeous face, and Steve’s hand fists in Bucky’s hair, tugging Bucky in and kissing him messily, greedily, wanton in the way his other hand is traveling down Bucky’s front.

“This is a new development!” Thor’s voice calls over the thrumming of Bucky’s blood in his ears.  Steve, maddeningly, breaks away, a small, embarrassed smile playing on his lips.  He turns to Thor and shrugs.

“Actually, pal, this is a century in the making,” Steve says, picking up the shield that had been discarded on the ground at his feet when he’d reached Bucky.  He secures it on his back.

“What a joyous union!” Thor cries. “We must celebrate with mead and a feast!”

Bucky rolls his eyes and nudges Steve with his hip.  “Well, I guess it hasn’t been a secret for a while,” he says, one corner of his mouth tugging up.

“I don’t care who knows, Buck,” Steve confesses, planting a kiss on Bucky’s cheek.

“Sap,” he replies, but he knows his whole body lights up with it, betraying his carefully crafted assassin exterior.  For once, he doesn’t mind.

 

* * *

 

 

VI. Everyone Else/All at Once

When Tony dubs Tuesday nights “movie night” at Avengers Tower, he really just means it to be the few of them who live there.  Somehow, over the course of time, it has grown into A Thing, complete with tacos, and because Bucky and Steve eat five times the amount of a normal human, Tony has taken to having the whole thing catered.

Bucky used to feel bad about it, how much it all must cost, but when Steve explains the ungodly amount of money Tony has, Bucky decides he’s not going to complain about taco night, or movie night, or the free lodging he and Steve benefit from, or the even newer vibranium arm Tony has commissioned from Wakanda, or _any_ of it. 

Instead of worrying about money, Bucky starts to fix his plate.  He eyes the food, deciding to slather a soft taco with refried beans and put a hard taco inside it, complete with ground beef, lettuce, tomato, cheese, and sour cream.  In fact, he makes five of them and then sets the plate down to make another one, onto which he spoons queso and a heap of chips.

Natasha and Sam are arguing over the projector about which movie they’re going to play as Bucky enters the room with his plates.  Natasha’s already got the remote in hand, touting the merits of _The Bourne Identity_ , while Sam protests, contending that _The Hurt Locker_ is better.  They’re in the back row in this ostentatious, stadium-seating theater Tony’s had built for just this occasion.  Thor cradles a plate of hard tacos in one hand, lounging carelessly in the second row of leather couches.  Near him on the couch is Clint, who’s already shoving a soft taco into his mouth as he perches up on his toes.  Bucky’s noticed this about him—he doesn’t like to sit.  On the couch across the aisle from them are Tony and Pepper, Tony’s arm draped over her as her thin fingers lift a queso-dipped chip into her mouth.  Rhodey is beside them, one socked foot up on the cushion, laughing at something Tony’s said.  Wanda and Vision are in the next row up.  Vision doesn’t eat, just watches Wanda and wipes spot of sour cream from the corner of her mouth with his thumb.  In the same row is Bruce, who refuses to eat tacos on the couch, no matter how many times Tony says it’s okay.  He’s sitting upright, arm draped over the back of the couch like he doesn’t know how to be comfortable.  Scott and Hope are next to him on the couch, Hope’s legs draped over Scott’s lap. 

Bucky’s eyes settle on Steve, who likes to be in the front row.  Bucky prefers the back row, where he can see everyone in the room, but with time, he’s started to—dare he think it?—trust these people.  He at least trusts them to watch Steve’s back, and really, that’s all he cares about, and besides, he wants to sit with Steve, so he’s gotten used to the front row.  Steve is sitting on one side of the couch, his plate balanced on the armrest.  Bucky plops down beside him, and they eat quietly, not paying attention to the discussion that practically everyone’s joined in about what movie to watch.

Somehow they land on _Star Wars: Episode IV – A New Hope_ , and while the yellow words scroll up the screen, Steve shifts so both of his legs are sprawled out on the couch.  Bucky snuggles in between them, laying his head on Steve’s shoulder, Steve carding his hand through Bucky’s hair as the theme song plays loudly on the surround sound speakers.  Unconsciously, Steve turns his head to catch Bucky’s lips with his, tugging playfully on Bucky’s lower lip with his teeth, which earns him a whack on the back of his head. 

“Too many people here for you to rile me up, Stevie,” Bucky murmurs against the stubble on Steve’s cheek.

The music suddenly grows quieter, not because the opening crawl has ended, but because someone’s turned the volume down.  “Hey, uh, we’re trying to focus on the movie here,” Sam pipes up.  Steve, ignoring him, rubs his nose against Bucky’s.

“No one asked you to watch, buddy,” Steve responds.  Bucky purses his lips, biting back a laugh.  He and Steve turn to look at their audience.

Rhodey leans forward, eyebrows raised, but he’s smiling.  “So this is finally a thing?”

“Yeah, yeah, we’ll throw them a coming out party tomorrow,” Tony says, and Pepper sits up to narrow her eyes at him menacingly.

Natasha quirks a smile, pausing the movie completely before adding, “I found out months ago.”

“That’s not fair, you’re a spy!” Clint argues.

“They weren’t exactly subtle, were they?” she asks, leaning back and licking queso off her finger.

“Subtle is not the word I would use,” Bruce agrees.

Everyone is murmuring in agreement at that, and Steve just turns back to Bucky, smiling warm and happy, eyes all lightness and laughter.  Bucky thinks it’s just a matter of time before he melts beneath that stare, lets himself sink closer into Steve and press his lips against Steve’s again, to catcalling and jeers behind them.  Steve doesn’t seem to care, and neither does Bucky, not anymore.  Not now.  Not after everything.

“I love you,” Bucky blurts out, low enough that only Steve can hear, and if Bucky expects anything other than the absolute radiant look Steve gives him before kissing him in earnest, he’s sorely mistaken.

The words that follow, tumbling from Steve’s mouth like a promise, could sustain him forever.  “I love you too, Buck.”

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks so much for reading. Hope you enjoy! Please drop a kudo or comment if you did. :)
> 
> The title is a Taylor Swift song off the 1989 album.
> 
> If you want to read more of my work, there's a very short Stucky fic that's all smiles [here](https://archiveofourown.org/works/18516874) and there's a longer, more angsty fic [here](https://archiveofourown.org/works/18033704/chapters/42613151).


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